The Townsville Files
by T.C LaBelle
Summary: 1952: A ring of murders occur in the small town of Townsville. But stop immediately after a teenager dissapears. Now, over fifty years later, the secret of the murders are starting to resurface; but to find the truth you must dig deep...very deep. AU. R&R
1. Prelude

**New story to get my creative juices flowing. I hate writer's block.**

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 **-Prelude-**

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 _"The biggest secret a town can have is its history."- Boomer, **(The Townsville Files)**_

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Life was normal for Bubbles Mackenzie Jones until she chose the subject of her history paper, 'The Townsville Files'.

What are 'The Townsville Files' you ask? Not many people know. Mostly because it is covered up with excuses: "It was just a wild animal." or "It was just a strange illness."

But they had lied.

'The Townsville Files' was the name given to a series of murders that occurred in the city of Townsville over fifty years ago. You see, in this small town, there was what you would call a cult. And they met deep in the forest and made human sacrifices. Yes, _human sacrifices._

It started out like this:

On the night of June 5th, 1952, a policeman was out on patrol as per usual. He was almost done, so he started to head back to the station. Then he smelled something; something vile, something _dead_. He turned in that direction. He didn't think it was anything serious, "Probably just a squirrel that got run over", he thought. Because Townsville was what you would call a model environment: a nice small town, with nice people, and a nice school, _what could possibly go wrong?_

A body with long bloody marks all across it was what went wrong.

The policeman stumbled onto the body, hidden in the bushes. At first, he panicked. Then he ran back to the station and brought an investigative team over.

An investigation occurred. The result was that the corpse had lost too much blood from the cuts and had been left there. But the marks were not made from knifes, so; they couldn't tell how he had been killed.

The case was dismissed because they could not find the murder weapon and there were no suspects. Eventually the whole ordeal was forgotten until two months later, when a fisherman discovered six bodies washed upon the shore of the local stream. All of them had similar marks on them.

But again, there was no murder weapon and there were no clues as to how they had been killed- except for the loss of blood.

The murders went on for the next five months. About seven more people were killed, all dying of the same cause. But the murders would finally come to an end, when a young boy of seventeen disappeared on January 7th, 1953.

He was said to have gone out with his father for dinner. But neither the father nor son had come home that night.

A week after the boy disappeared, the father turned himself in to the police. He said that he and others from a group had killed the people, but when asked, refused to tell who the others were.

He was sentenced to death. The murders then became nothing but a memory, and were soon forgotten.

Only a few people remember the murders today, and they dare not speak of them for fear that the events will repeat themselves.

No details remain, only a name: 'The Townsville Files'.

 **~End Of Chapter~**

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 **Shall I continue?**

 **T.C**


	2. Bubbles And Her Ghost

_I don't own the Powerpuff Girls. Damn._

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 **-Bubbles And Her Ghost-**

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Leaves scattering as she passed, a girl riding a motorcycle headed towards the town's local Pet Cemetery. It had been over fifty years since the town's dreadful ordeal. And now, it's a prosperous town with a population of five thousand and nothing (since the files) has been strange or out of the ordinary.

The girl stopped at the cemetery fence; she got off the bike, taking her helmet off as she did so. Her long blonde hair fell to the small of her back in a thick braid. At 5'5 and naturally skinny, she didn't look like much of a challenge. But you can never judge a book by its cover.

Chaining up her bike, the girl stepped in through the cemetery gates. She walked for a while until she stopped at a small grave with a cherry blossom tree over it. Her dog, Atticus, had died three years ago. Crouching down beside the grave, she recalled the days when he was still alive. she had never really found out why he died- she came home one day and he was just... _gone_.

She chose to come here every once in a while when she had the time or when she just didn't want to be around people. Which some would find strange that she felt comforted in a place with dead bodies all around and below her. But she never really minded, _except for that one day._

Memories came rushing to her as she thought back to when her dog died. She had visited the gravesite every morning and evening then. During one visit, on the night of a new moon, instead of the serene silence she normally heard when she sat next to the grave, she heard a horrible pounding sound. Her head turned to the side and her eyes looked over at a gravestone covered in ivy, as if no one had ever cared for it. Walking cautiously over to it, she discovered that the sound was coming _from_ the grave. And as she approached, the sound got louder and louder, so loud that she ran away in fright.

She was only fourteen then and had never told anybody, not even her best friend. Nor had she ever come back on nights with new moons. One experience with the pounding was enough. One evening, she finally got the courage to walk over to the grave. She started to pick at the ivy. She picked off enough to see that there was no name and the date on the tombstone read 195 something. There was not a month or day written on the tombstone.

But now as she sat there at her dog's resting place, she noticed that she had been staring at the mysterious grave for at least five minutes. Still curious, she walked over to the gravesite. She bent down and started to pick at the ivy again until there was nothing left. She looked around for any sign of a month or a day. But all it said was _'Died 195...'_ ; the rest of the date had been chipped off. She looked at it for a while and then had the urge to find something. She looked around the back of the gravestone, and there, in small writing, under the dirt, she saw something written in a strange language.

She sounded it out as well as she could and then stood up. She then left, got on her motorcycle, and headed towards school. It was a cool, fall day and the leaves had changed colors. She arrived at school on time, got off, and chained her bike, making sure it was secure. As she did so, memories of her father flooded her mind. Her father had been a professional motocross rider and had gotten pretty rich off it. But when she was ten, he had died in a motorcycle accident. That's why her mother had moved them to Townsville. She was recovering from the loss. Her mother used to be a prolific writer, but since her father's death, she had become depressed and decided to take up writing for the local newspaper. Bubbles had learned to ride to keep the memory of her father alive.

Walking up to the school, she saw her jerk 'boyfriend', Max, waiting for her. He was a senior while she was only a junior. She had been really surprised when he first asked her out, but she then found out that he was bossy, liked to brag about himself, and was VERY possessive of her.

But hey, he was the captain of the football team and the best athlete around, plus he and his 'posse' would mistreat her friends if she didn't go out with him.

"Hey Bubbles, how's everything going?" he asked with a smile. You could say he was sort of cute, he had brown hair and brown eyes, but of course he was nothing compared to the glorious Mitch.

"Fine, thanks." Bubbles answered. She tried not to get into any complicated conversations with him because she didn't want to confuse him. She learned that he could not hold up his end of a conversation containing too many details or big words.

Bubbles gave him a fake smile and walked past him to the school. She then walked over to her locker and got her books out for the day's classes.

The day went by normally, and then finally it was the last period of the day and her favorite class, History. She loved history she had always found old cultures fascinating. History was always fun and they always got great assignments (when they did get them, anyway.)

And today was no exception.

After the class discussion was over, her teacher had began to talk about the assignment they would be working on for the next two months.

"The project is very simple, actually. You'll be picking a historical event that has happened in the past one hundred years. It can be an event in another country, or in this nation, or even in this town. But you must provide detailed information and pictures would help enhance the project. By the end of the week, I want you to give me your subject, so no one will be able to cheat. This is an individual project." The teacher paused while waiting for the moans to end, "Now don't complain, and don't slack off on this, because it will be a fourth of next semester's grade." Her description of the assignment ended in more moans and the bell ringing.

Bubbles could tell she'd like this project. But the problem was she didn't know what to pick. So after school she went to the local library and skimmed through some newspaper clippings dating back to 1939. She thought of where she'd like to do her research and decided to find something in this town.

"Maybe I can dig up some dirt on this clean town." she whispered quietly to herself.

After skimming through the articles for about fifteen minutes, she came across a newspaper article entitled 'Mysterious death in Townsville.' She stopped and looked over it. It was supposedly about a policeman who found a body in the bushes with strange marks all over it.

She went on and found that a neither a suspect nor a murder weapon had ever been discovered. "Strange," she mumbled, "You'd think they'd at least convict someone."

She flipped through the pages of the newspaper and came across more deaths. "Even stranger," she mused, "They all died of the same thing, but there was never any evidence as to exactly what killed them."

Finally she came to an article entitled, 'Boy mysteriously vanishes.' She looked over it. It explained how a seventeen year old boy by the name of Theodore Harrington disappeared over fifty years ago. After the boy vanished, it seemed that the murders stopped. And the whole ordeal was later refereed to as 'The Townsville Files.'

"Perfect, this will be great!" she half whispered.

She took notes on most of the events, including some names and dates. She looked at the time. It was five o'clock and she pretty tired, so she headed home.

Bubbles' house wasn't like many others. Her house was built of stone and had been there for many years. They were paid by the Historical Society to live there so that it wouldn't be destroyed. For some reason the people in this town thought the house was 'haunted' and it was difficult to find someone to live it. Bubbles and her mom didn't really care, so they went ahead and moved into the house.

No one had lived in it for almost forty years, so they had to fix it up. They found a lot of things in there: mostly just everyday items and a few unusual things such as chests in the attic. But the strangest thing was an old sword she found in her closet. Problem was, was when she touched it, a pain shot up her arm and her palm started to bleed. She didn't really have a reason to keep it, but, because she couldn't touch it, she had no choice but to leave it.

She rounded a corner and turned into the house's driveway.

Bubbles' mom was sitting at the table when she got home. After kissing her on the cheek, she went upstairs to her bedroom.

From top to bottom and side to side, Bubbles' bedroom walls were covered in posters, but even with all the different assortments of wild colors, she still managed to keep the place looking neat and clean. Many candles, perfumes, books, and trinkets covered the top of the dresser. In one corner, across from the door there was a huge bookshelf filled with all different kinds of books. Her entertainment system, including her three-disc CD player with speakers took up one wall. Her pine wood bed had different colored Christmas lights over it. And on her navy blue bedspread laid the newest edition to the family: Atticus II. She laid down her stuff and then started on her homework, which she finished rather quickly.

After deciding she had nothing better to do, Bubbles headed back downstairs, got on her bike, and went to the cemetery. She went to Atticus' grave and was about to sit down, but thought better of it when she saw a boy leaning against the cherry tree. She couldn't see his face very well, but he had on a battered up white shirt and his blue pants were ripped. He had dark hair and he looked a bit depressed.

She walked over to him, but he didn't even seem to notice that she was there.

"Hey there," Bubbles said. When he still didn't acknowledge her she said in a louder voice, "I said hello. What are you doing here; do you have a pet here?" Still no answer. "Hey you! Yeah, you with the white shirt, I'm talking to you!"

He finally looked up with a surprised expression and his beautiful blue eyes met her own. "You can see me?" His voice was cracked, as though he hadn't used it in years.

"Of course I can see you. What sort of stupid question is that?"

"Oh, it's just...nothing." He paused, "I'd better get going." He stood up and walked towards the gates with a backwards glance at her. She looked down at Atticus' grave and then back up to the boy, but he had already disappeared.

"Weird." She left after fifteen minutes of talking to herself. She rode back home, took a shower, and went to bed.

She woke up in the middle of the night when she heard a noise from the attic. The attic was right above her; and from the sounds of the noise, whatever it was, wasn't a squirrel.

Grabbing her baseball bat from the corner of the room, she got out of bed, and started to sneak towards the attic door. She crept up to the door and then walked up the stairs. More noises reached her ears; she reached for the light switch, and then put the bat over her head ready to swing when...

"YOU!" she yelled.

It was the boy from the graveyard going through one of the old trunks from the old owners. He looked at her with surprise and then anger.

"What are you doing here?" Bubbles asked.

"Me?! I should be asking you that question." He said to her in an angry voice.

"I _live_ here!" She yelled back.

"No you don't, _I_ live here!"

She paused for a moment and then got behind him and tried to nudge him to the attic door so he could get out, "You freak, I've lived here for the past seven years and…"

She looked at the bat and then at the boy whose body the bat was going through.

"You're … you're a ... you…" She rambled.

"A ghost, captain obvious." He replied nonchalantly.

 **~End Of Chapter~**

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 **Thank you for all the reviews guys! They really mean a lot :)**

 **T.C**


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